StarCraft: Hell Hath Other Fury
by Hawki
Summary: Oneshot: Warfield had once said that if Hell ever existed, Char was it. Two years after that, Raynor reflected that the general might have been right, if not in the way he'd anticipated...


_A/N_

 _The idea for this came from the_ War is Hell _mutator, how Char experienced increased volcanic activity during the events of_ Void Thrashing _. Made me wonder, could it be linked to the presence of the Void thrashers, the planet itself reacting to Amon's forces? Eh, probably not, but it sort of got me to drabble this up regardless._

 _And before anyone points it out, yes, I know Davis here doesn't match her role in_ Part and Parcel _. However, this was written way before BlizzCon 2017, so, um, roll with it._

* * *

 **Hell Hath Other Fury**

"Scotty Bolger's Old Number Eight."

"Nice. How 'bout you?"

"Water."

"Water? Seriously?"

"What can I say? It's hot down here. I need to keep hydrated."

Raynor supposed that Matt had to do that. Up till now, he'd never stepped foot on Char. Right now, they were both in Vulcan's Hammer, a fortress that had recently been under the command of Master Sergeant Bama Kowalski. As Raynor had spent the last few hours holding the line against Moebius Corps forces, dodging both gunfire and regular fire, the mess hall of the fortress felt like a piece of Heaven in a universe that had gone to Hell. Matt though, still looked hot. His uniform was still crisp and tidy, but as beads of sweat trickled down his forehead, and as he took a sip of his water, Raynor could only ask why he didn't just drown it all in one gulp, make his way to the water cooler, get another one, then come back.

Though he didn't ask. He knew the answer. You didn't spend six years alongside a friend without learning their drinking habits. Raynor took another sip of the whisky, mimicking Matt's equally slow sips. Vulcan's Hammer was short on everything bar alcohol it seemed. Within the week, if things went to plan, the Dominion Fleet would bring men and material to reinforce the base. Once that happened, Raynor knew that he and Matt would be on their way to another battlefield. Another piece of Hell.

"Strange, isn't it?" Raynor mused.

"Hmm?"

"Us. Being here." He took another sip. "Last time we were here we were fighting zerg to save humanity. Now we're fighting humanity to save…"

"Save…?"

"I was gonna say 'fighting humanity to save humanity,' but it didn't roll off the tongue nicely."

"Yeah, well, same tactics isn't it?" Matt asked. "Hold the line, strike when needed, only difference is that we don't have the xel'naga artifact to help us."

Raynor remained silent. Last time they were here…He took another sip. Last time he'd felt like he'd had a purpose. Had drive. That after four years, what had begun on Tarsonis and catalyzed on Korhal, would come to a head. Right now, he still had purpose, he supposed. Every member of Amon's forces who kicked the bucket was a potential live saved. Only…He put the glass aside. He'd fought terrans. Killed terrans. But humans, for all their tenacity, usually weren't suicidal. And up till now, they'd never been supported by monstrosities that erupted from the ground through strange portals. Even when the UED had used zerg on Korhal, he'd at least been able to understand how that was meant to work. Even now, as the war proved that conflict indeed made strange bedfellows, even between different species, he could still stomach that. But this?

"You okay?" Matt asked.

"Hmm." He leant back in his chair. "Just thinking."

Matt didn't ask what about. He may have been in the _Hyperion_ providing air support, but he'd still seen the things Raynor had. Had let out barrages of lasers into those creaturesbefore they finally went down. Looking around the mess hall, at the collection of men and women, eating and drinking in silence, Raynor knew that they'd seen the things he had. How many of them would go through their entire lives seeing those things?

He didn't get the chance to ask any further questions. The doors to the rec room hissed open. His right eye drifted over to the visitor. A nanosecond later, his left eye followed as well. A nanosecond after that, he and Matt were both on their feet. Unfortunately, not too many of the base's staff did as well.

"Is something wrong?" the visitor asked.

She walked in. Raynor and Matt remained in place. Eyes forward, stomachs in, shoulders back. No sound but the soft footsteps of one Dominion general, and the clunks of a pair of marines in CMC-400s. Raynor wished he had his own suit right now. Wished he was back on the battlefield. Right now, that would have been preferable to spending time with General Carolina Davis.

"Captain Raynor," she said. She walked over to the table he and Matt were standing at. "I'd ask why your men aren't standing to attention, but I think I know."

Raynor met her gaze. "Ain't too big on discipline. People get the job done, they can do what they want in their downtime."

"Hmm. Rebels rarely care about the chain of command." She looked at Raynor's sweat-soaked vest, non-regulation hair, and stubble growing on his chin. "Or hygiene."

 _Wait, do I smell?_

"General Davis," Matt said, taking over. "We weren't told of your arrival."

"No. You weren't."

 _I really don't smell do I?_

"Actually, I've been given command of all Dominion forces in this quadrant." Davis handed over a data pad, which Matt read. "Emperor Valerian wants us to hold Char at any cost. So once the fleet arrives, I'll take command of this base and get to work in ensuring that Master Sergeant Kowalski doesn't have to call in vagabonds to help her fight her battles."

Matt frowned. "You're usurping command."

"I'd be a little more careful with your words Admiral. Generals by definition do not usurp."

 _And princes?_ Raynor wondered.

Matt lowered his head. "Apologies."

Davis sniffed. "Anyway, I want you to follow me," she said. She nodded her head to the doors leading out of the mess hall. "And yes, that is an order."

She strode off. After some hesitation, Matt followed. After a smell of his armpit, so did Raynor.

General Carolina Davis. He'd heard of her. Never met her until now, but her reputation preceded her. Dear friend of not-so-dear Arcturus. Master strategist within the Dominion Armed Forces. Fierce Mengsk loyalist, even after their stunt on Korhal. And right now, on Char. A valuable planet to be sure, but not one under any immediate danger. Raynor wondered if Valerian knew what he was doing.

"How many men do you have down here?" Davis asked, as the commanders kept walking. Soft, quick footsteps, followed by the clunks of Special Forces marines.  
"Three-hundred, four-hundred, give or take," Matt said.

"Give or take?"

"No company is at full strength. We'll have to start merging the units."

" _I_. Not _you_." Davis shot him a look. "Like I said, you two will be out to fight the good fight within the next twenty-four hours."

Raynor smirked. _Oh. I see._

Of course Valerian wanted her here. The Dominion was at war, and if history had shown anything, there was no better time to launch a revolution when a war was on. The Great War had allowed Arcturus to topple the Confederacy, forming the Dominion. The Brood War had allowed the Kel-Morian Combine and Umojan Protectorate to break away from that Dominion. Last year, war had allowed Valerian to take her father's place, through an alliance with the zerg. An alliance that as far as he knew, Davis knew nothing about, suspicions aside. So what better move was there than to put her out of reach of Korhal than Char? Strategic enough that the posting wouldn't raise eyebrows, out of reach of Korhal enough so that any move she might make would have a chance of being seen?

 _Nice move Junior._

The commanders reached the fortress's command room – a screen of plasteel separated the area from the hellscape that was Char outside. Techs manned terminals, officers gave orders, marines stood in the corners in a mix of encouragement and intimidation. But what caught Raynor's eyes more than anything was Char itself. It was night, but one would barely know it. Plumes of lava shot up into the air. Ash drifted through the air. Rivers of magma cut through the landscape. Vulcan's Hammer was safe (or as safe as one could be on this rock), but still, it was clear that this area of the planet was experiencing higher than normal volcanic activity. Even by Char's standards.

"It's funny," Davis said.

"What is?" Matt asked.

She gestured to the hellscape. "That we get such high activity right after Amon's failed assault. After, if what I've been told is true, creatures literally erupted from the ground to attack the fortress. Hell hath other fury, as the saying goes."

Matt shrugged. Raynor remained silent. He doubted that it was anything but coincidence, but he'd seen the images in the ihan crystal Zeratul had given him. Seen the protoss fall before the hybrid in a doomed last stand. Seen creatures of nightmare no different from the creatures that beset them now. He'd seen the abyss, the abyss had looked back, and sometimes at night, when he closed his eyes, the abyss kept them open for him.

So no. He wouldn't rule it out. Not yet at least.

"Funny, isn't it," Davis said. "You two, being here again, after so many years."

"Only two," Matt murmured.

"Two, and six." She turned back to look at Raynor. "Yes, I know your history. I know what happened here on Char. How you sparing the Queen of Blades led to the ruination of Korhal."

Raynor frowned – there was a lot he could have said about that particular decision, but instead he murmured, "considering how the Queen of Blades is fighting Amon as well right now, one could say that was for the best."

"Perhaps." She drew out a comm. link. "Stammets. Bring him in."

A side door hissed open. Another pair of Special Forces marines walked in. Raynor's first question was how many of these guys there were in the base already, and why they insisted on walking around with their visors down. The second question was-

"Who the fekk is that?"

…actually, Matt asked it for him. Because they were dragging a prisoner. A terran prisoner bereft of armour, and any clothing bar the most simple of garments. The marines dropped him in front of Davis. Numerous eyes turned in their direction from all over the room.

"The Dark God calls. We serve. We slay. Cycle shall end. Suffering ends. We suffer till the end."

 _Oh fekk._ Raynor knew who it was. What it was.

"A survivor," Matt asked. He looked at Davis. "You found a survivor."

"Hmm." Davis gave the man a nudge with her boot. "I've got my own teams scouring Char for these people. These traitors. Moebius Corps soldiers are fanatical, but every so often one finds a fish after all the sharks are dead."

Every so often, Raynor reflected. More like hardly ever. Every time he'd fought against Moebius Corps soldiers, they'd fought to the end. No retreat, no surrender, they'd still try to kill you after losing all their limbs. They reminded him of the zerg in a way. Except worse. The zerg under Amon's control still fought as zerg did. Mobeius Corps operated in a manner completely different to how one would expect from terrans.

"We fight, we burn. Darkness comes through our light. We fight till end, to bring end. Glory to the Truth-bringer."

"So what now?" Matt asked. "Do we interrogate him? Rehabilitate him?"

"Rehabilitate?" Davis asked.

"Yes. All indications are that the Moebius Corps came under Amon's thrall through their Hybrid Program. If we remove that control…"

"Look at him," Davis said. "The hybrid are gone from Char. But does he look free to you?"

"To glory. To victory. Cycle shall end. Fight till end. Bring the end. We serve."

He didn't, Raynor reflected. He reminded him of a resoc. A broken resoc. The type of resoc that even the Confederacy wouldn't have accepted.

"These people are traitors," Davis said. "Enemies. That's the only way you can view them."

Raynor wasn't sure about that. He would have said something, but it was at this point that Davis drew out a revolver and shot the trooper between the eyes.

"Fekk!"

Exclamations rang out through the room – techies ducking for cover, marines drawing their rifles, officers calling people to stand down (Matt included). The only people that looked unfazed were Davis and the marines she'd brought with her.

"There's no saving the Moebius Corps," she said, ejecting the empty shell from her pistol before holstering it. "And there's no mercy to be given to traitors." She looked at Raynor. "Is that clear?"

He found himself slowly reaching for his own revolver, even as she holstered hers. "Is that an order?"

"It's a reminder," she said. She turned her gaze to the base staff. "As you were."

Slowly, the staff obeyed. Raynor's gaze drifted out back to Char – the ash cloud was moving to the base. Slowly, his eyes drifted down to the executed trooper, even as his body was dragged away by the marines. A trail of blood was made in his wake, coming from the single wound in his forehead.

 _Hell hath other fury,_ he reflected. He looked over at Davis, who was talking with Major Arthur. As if nothing had happened. As if she hadn't murdered a man in cold blood, just to make a point.

 _You're God damn fekking right._


End file.
